


Black and Gold

by mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Post-Break Up, Rough Sex, because break up, because you know iron bull, but also really sad, post-Inquisition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 19:34:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3621699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He has not seen her for six months but she comes to him one night. </p><p>Really sad Iron Bull/Female Adaar post-break up tent sex. Basically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black and Gold

**Author's Note:**

> This is set around a year after the events of DA:I and around six months after Iron Bull and the Inquisitor have broken up.

She came to him one night, like a dream.

He was awake as soon as the flap of his tent started stirring. Old Ben-Hassrath training never quite forgotten. But it wasn't some low-life bandit or assassin. It was her.

He had not seen her for six months but he recognized her at once, even in the dark of night. There was something about her posture, the way she held her head. Wary but proud. He would have known it anywhere.

“Panthomeia,” he said as he sat up in his cot but she did not answer. Motionless she stood in the middle of the tent, her face unreadable as always.

She looked exactly like she had always wanted to look. A queen. A goddess even. There was nothing scrappy about her anymore. Nothing that reminded him of the mercenary with self-made armor and a stolen staff who he had first met on a beach at the Storm Coast. She had left all that behind – had left him behind. She was clad in black and gold now. Shiny golden plates like dragon scales were embedded into the ends of her horns and rings of gold curled all the way up her muscular arms. He could not remember ever seeing her in a dress but she wore one now. Silky black fabric that skimmed the dusty ground, held together by golden clasps on her shoulders. Her feet were bare. For a second he wondered how she could even be here, in the middle of nowhere. A far way from Skyhold, from the Inquisition's ever-growing influence. Perhaps she was nothing but a dream after all.

As if to dispel his doubts, she stepped forward. With a flick of her wrist the candles next to his cot and on the table lit up and bathed the tent in warm light. Harsh shadows danced over the canvas and the dark skin of the woman he had once called his heart. Without taking her eyes off him, she started pulling the bracelets off her arms. One by one they landed in the dust at her feet, faintly clanging as they hit the ground. He did not say anything but watched her as she lifted her hands and undid the clasps at her shoulders. With a sound like a sigh the dress fell from her and pooled at her ankles. She wore nothing underneath.

She stood in front of him like she had so many times before. Bathed in candlelight, seemingly unaffected by the cold of the night. He remembered every inch of her as if she was his own body. The soft curve of her waist and hips, the sharp collarbones above her heavy breasts. The triangle of soft dark curls between her legs. Her chin slightly raised, as if she was daring him to make a move. He kept still, sitting on the edge of his cot – some part of him still not convinced that she was actually here and not just a spirit come to taunt him.

She stepped out of her dress and closed the distance between them in an agonizingly slow pace. When he felt her fingertips brush his shoulders, the spell was broken. With a deep growl he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. He pressed his face into the soft flesh of her stomach and inhaled her scent. It was her, no doubt about it. She smelled just as he remembered it. Leather and fire and some sharp spice he could never quite put a name to. And underneath, the sweet alluring scent of sex. Oh, how he had missed her. Even now, with his arms around her, he felt the loss of her like a hollow space inside his chest.

He felt his arousal growing and dug his fingers deep into the skin of her hips. His body was falling back into old patterns. He did not even have to think about it. His fingers knew their way around her body even without his mind guiding them. He placed two soft kisses on her side before biting down, hard enough to leave a mark. The hiss that escaped her lips was the first sound she had made since entering his tent. But suddenly he felt her hands on his horns, pushing him back forcefully. Before he knew what was happening, she had climbed onto his lap, wrapping her long legs around him. She looked him straight in the eye. Her face might as well have been misled out of stone expect for the small frown right between her eyebrows. She kissed him then, open-mouthed and hungry.

They had played this game so many times, Iron Bull had lost count. But there was nothing playful about her now. When he pushed hard, she pushed back harder. No yielding, no giving herself up in the pleasure anymore. The sweetness that she had only ever shown to him had turned into something sharp, ragged. When she cried out her release for the first time that night, she looked him in the eye, defiant. Perhaps angry that he still could make her come undone with just a flick of his tongue and two finger gently curled inside of her.

The candles were almost burned down and the light of dawn creeping through the canvas of the tent, when they finally fell apart, collapsing onto the cot. Both bruised and tingling with heavy limbs – sweat coating every inch of their bodies.

Iron Bull had never been a man who was ashamed of crying but he almost didn't want her to see it now. His tears ran freely, silently, while she was still in his arms. Still panting, sweat quickly turning cold in the brisk autumn air. The tears did not stop when she finally untangled herself from him and got up to gather up her clothes from the floor. He watched her dress herself with her back to him. When she fastened the last clasp of her dress, he felt the cold creeping back into his bones. She was too far gone now. Perhaps she always had been. He knew she would not turn around to look at him on her way out.

But something must have caught her eye because she stopped, her hand already in the air to push open the tent's entrance. She hesitated for a moment, her eyes fixed on his pack and battle ax next to the entrance.

“You kept it,” she said. Her deep voice cutting through him like a knife and burying itself in his core. His gaze followed her as she bent down and gently put her hand against the smooth white surface of the dragon's tooth which hung on a cord from the side of his pack. Her dragon's tooth.

“Of course I kept it”, he said pushing himself into a sitting position once more. She kept her eyes on the tooth, her fingers caressing it in a way his skin remembered.

“I didn't know it would be like this,” she said softly, almost too quiet to make it out.

A single word fell from his lips: “Kadan.” His voice breaking under the weight of it.

Finally she turned her head to look at him. Sadness, a hint of that lost softness in her eyes. But he knew it wasn't enough. All he could give her would never be enough.

She straightened back up and left without another word. Leaving behind nothing but the dwindling light of the candles and the hollow feeling inside his chest where she used to be.

 

 


End file.
